


Slow

by drwhorose



Series: With You [1]
Category: True Detective
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, brief mention - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwhorose/pseuds/drwhorose
Summary: ‘Rust was really pressing the issue. Was he afraid Marty would kick him out? He never could. Never would. It might be a good idea to tell Rust that, but finding the right words seemed damn near impossible, especially with that hand on his back, waking a fire in his loins that had long burned out (or so he thought).’*Rust can’t stop fixing things. Marty just wants to get one thing right.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Series: With You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668223
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	Slow

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of True Detective.

Marty woke up to the smell of coffee; the drip of the machine grew to a loud rumble from the kitchen. Another day to be alive. He should be more thankful, but lately, he was stuck. Kept hitting dead ends on a case. Rust was more active, too, didn’t need his help like before. Maybe he’d want to move out soon, and well, Marty didn’t want to think on that for too long. Made his chest ache and his stomach twist in knots. Marty sat up in bed, stretched his tired old bones and followed his nose. 

He took his time down the hallway, didn’t want to spook Rust. He pictured him sitting at the kitchen table, a newspaper in his hands, taking cautious sips from a chipped ceramic mug. Instead, Marty found Rust on the floor, saw only his legs at first. His chest tightened, but then he spotted a toolbox a few inches from Rust’s hips. He snuck into the kitchen to watch Rust, deep in a zone, twisting and tightening a pipe under the kitchen sink, surrounded by a pile of damp towels.

“Morning.” Marty cocked his head to the side, trying to catch Rust’s eyes, but they were fixed on the pipe. “Thanks for making coffee.”

Silence was the only response, that and the clanging and twisting of tools against metal. 

“Something wrong with the sink?” Marty grasped at what little patience he could muster this early in the morning, before being caffeinated. 

“Leaking.” Rust slid out from under the sink and sat up, placing Marty’s tools into the box one by one like they were made of glass. His long graying hair was tied back neatly; his jeans had holes in the knees. He couldn’t be bothered with socks either. A beautiful disheveled mess.

Rust stood and smoothed his undershirt, which had ridden above the scar on his belly. Marty wished he hadn’t been in a hurry to cover all that bare skin, damaged but captivating. Not that he’d ever tell Rust how much he liked the look of his body, so long and lean, even if he had gotten too skinny for his own good. It wasn’t something a guy said to another guy. 

“How’s it going?”

Rust ignored the question, turning the tap and taking a few steps back as the water ran. “It’s done.”

“You hungry for breakfast? I can make some eggs.” Marty studied Rust’s face, but all he got in return was something blank and hidden.

Rust washed his hands and then shut off the faucet. A painfully slow process, he had to be the only person who took a full thirty seconds to scrub and rinse his hands. “Yeah, all right.” 

Marty sucked in a breath. He lacked several virtues, patience being one of them, but he was doing all he could to be gentle, to give Rust space and time while his body healed. A week ago, Rust still needed a cane to walk the length of the backyard. The man who could’ve broken Marty’s hands with a simple move. It had been rough to witness his strength reduced to something feeble. So he let things go, held back comments, but it was like Rust knew somehow. And he was egging him on, pushing him to yell or argue.

Rust turned around and dried his hands with a plaid towel he snatched from the counter. His tired gaze met Marty’s, his lips pressed in a tight line. “Am I in the way?”

Marty shook his head. “No, but go on and sit, and I’ll get breakfast started.”

Rust set the towel on the counter and turned again to close the cabinet doors under the sink. “I was thinking of running to the hardware store later. You got some door hinges squeaking.”

“Should you be running anywhere, Rust? You just finished physical therapy last week.”

“If you’re not busy today, you can drive me.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to fix everything in my house. I can take care of it.”

“When’s the last time you opened that toolbox, Marty?” Rust squatted and swiped his finger over the lid. “Gotta be an inch or two of dust.”

So he was fixing for a shouting match, or some kinda fight. Marty folded his arms. All he had to do was turn around and get the eggs out of the refrigerator. But it seemed Rust wasn’t done yet.

“You had a damn lake under the sink. When exactly were you planning on fixing that?”

Marty clenched his jaw. “Rust, is it your life’s mission to irritate the fuck out of me?” 

Rust’s eyes flickered with light with a glimpse of a smile on his lips. “I’m just trying to pull my weight. Your generosity in offering your guest room for all this time is, well, I appreciate it.”

Rust was the one being generous, calling that closet stuffed with a full-size mattress and a nightstand a guest room. Marty had bought the little set cheap ten years ago, hoping Audrey or Maisie would want to stay overnight once in a while (they never did). The ultimate minimalist, Rust didn’t bat an eye when offered the tiny room that shared a wall with the master. Marty got accustomed to hearing him over the months. On quiet nights, Marty listened to him fall asleep, a soothing rhythm of breaths that lulled him to his own slumber. He heard the nightmares, too, muffled shouts and cries that mirrored his own.

“But you’d rather thank me by pissing me off, is that it?” Marty planted his feet on the kitchen tile.

“I’ve overstayed my time.” Rust wiped the dust off his finger onto his tattered jeans.

“I already told you, stay as long as you’d like.” 

“No, I’ll only stay as long as  _ you’d _ like.” Rust took a step closer to him, pointed his finger toward Marty’s chest. 

_ I want you to stay. For good.  _ Hard to say the words aloud. Too much. Marty chewed his lower lip instead of giving voice to the words bubbling in his throat. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed the egg carton from the top shelf. “How about we take a drive to the hardware store after breakfast, huh?” 

“I’m not a goddamn child.”

“No one said you were.” Marty brushed past him on his way to the stove, ignoring the spark at his shoulder from the contact. He got out a pan and turned on the burner. 

Rust took a few steps closer and stood beside him at the stove. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Marty ignored him for a moment and added some butter, watched it separate and melt in the heat. He swirled the golden remains to coat the pan before cracking a few eggs into it. “I’m trying to look out for you is all. But if you want to fall over and break your neck just to fix some door hinges, be my fucking guest.” He grabbed a spatula and flipped the eggs.

Rust pressed his hand on Marty’s back.

The sudden pressure jerked Marty forward, and he dropped the spatula onto the counter next to the stovetop. “Jesus, Rust.”

“Didn’t mean to startle you. Thing is, I’m not used to someone looking out for me. It’s new territory. And I was being a dick. I know you mean well, Marty. Even if you come off kinda controlling.” Rust kept his hand steady, rubbed a small circle on Marty’s upper back.

The firm touch was nice. Comforting. His shoulders loosened and he unclenched his jaw. Rust had a way of getting under his skin in more ways than one. Marty was hooked on a pendulum that swung from annoyance to attraction.

He closed his eyes for a moment, let himself enjoy the warmth of Rust’s hand. Being divorced had led to what Marty called the untouchable years. He was an old man who hadn’t been laid in a long time. But Rust was his friend, and he felt like a damn fool. It seemed wrong, dirty even, to enjoy his touch. The Bible had been drilled into his skull from an early age, hard to shake off years of being told that what he wanted to do with another man was sinful. But Marty was no stranger to sin, and his body reacted regardless of what his mind advised. 

“Well, I already knew you were a dick.” Marty smiled. “Still wanted you to move in with me.”

“And when do you want me to move out?” 

Rust was really pressing the issue. Was he afraid Marty would kick him out? He never could. Never would. It might be a good idea to tell Rust that, to reassure him, but finding the right words seemed damn near impossible especially with that hand on his back, rubbing him, waking a fire in his loins that had long burned out (or so he thought).

“Let’s not worry about all that. Just go on and sit, if you want.” Probably wasn’t wise to order him around given their current topic of conversation, so Marty, added, “Or stand here. I got a knot in my left shoulder that could use the help of your hands.”

Rust slid his hand across Marty’s back. “You being serious?” He dug his thumb deep into the tangled mess of muscles. 

Marty stifled a moan. “Yep, that’s it.” He’d been half-joking. He didn’t expect Rust to take him up on it either. 

“You weren’t kidding.” Rust grabbed Marty’s lower back with his right hand and then dug his left hand into the area around the knot. After a few firm pushes which hurt like hell, leave it to Rust to give a painful and practical massage, the muscles loosened. 

“Your strength is coming back.” Marty scooped the eggs out of the pan. They were overcooked, but Rust was never one to complain about Marty’s subpar meals. He always ate everything in quiet appreciation. After being cleared by the physical therapist to stand unassisted, he made it a habit of cleaning the dishes by hand after every meal, too. 

Rust opened the cabinet and set two dishes on the counter. “In my hands, yeah.”

Marty turned to look at those strong hands, his gaze pulled toward Rust like some magnetic force. He wanted those hands all over him. A switch had been turned on somewhere deep inside, these past hours, days, and months of living together. He had worried that spending every day with Rust would send him to an early grave, but it was pretty fuckin perfect. Even the annoying things weren’t so bad, most of the time.

“Thanks. My back’s already feeling better.” Marty wasn’t always such a coward, but he had to get this right. This was Rustin fucking Cohle. His partner. His best friend. He wanted what they had to become more, so much that it hurt. Worse than the scar on his chest. But he couldn’t be certain that Rust wanted it, too. Finding how to start, where to begin was the biggest struggle. This wasn’t just anyone. One misstep and Marty could lose him all over again.

Rust ambled to the table and took a seat, and Marty followed with the dishes, setting them in the usual places. He rushed back for the coffee pot before Rust could get up again, pouring them each a cup.

“You’re sweating bullets.” Rust took a sip from his blue mug. 

Marty wiped sweat from his forehead. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

Rust took a bite of the eggs and chewed, his dark blue eyes fixed on Marty. Being studied by him was unsettling at times, annoying at others, but right now it only added fuel to Marty’s fire. The one he was trying so hard to douse and disregard. “Maybe you got a fever.”

“I’m fine.” Marty drank some coffee. “Lay off.”

“Now you know what I deal with.” Rust picked up his mug. “It’s no fun getting babied.”

“Fine. You made your point. The sooner you eat, the sooner we can run that errand. I’ve got to stop by the agency and check some records this afternoon.”

“I might need a cigarette first if that’s all right by you.” Rust took another bite.

“Sure, fine.” It would give himself a chance to cool down, take his mind off wanting to kiss his best friend right there at the kitchen table. Goddamn embarrassing is what it was.

“Are you nervous about something?” Rust set down his fork. “Big case?”

“I told you I’m fine, which means I’m fine.”

Rust tapped his fingers against the empty dish. “That’s not always true. You don’t usually verbally express what you’re feeling.”

“Well, right now, I’m feeling irritated.”

“That’s a start.” Rust stood and grabbed his dish and then Marty’s. “Give me your fork so I can get all this cleaned before we go.”

“Thought you wanted to smoke.”

“Well, that, too. But I can only do one thing at a time.”

“Mr. Genius isn’t a multitasker?”

“Multitasking is a myth.”

“Okay, here we go.” Marty stood and watched Rust carry the dishes and forks to the sink. 

“The human mind can only truly attend to one thing at a time. You can shift and alternate attention, but the focus remains on one object or task.” Rust turned on the faucet.

Even the rambling was doing it for Marty. The languid stream of words made his stomach flutter and flip. This was getting out of hand. He either had to kiss him or kick him out. “Mind if I join you outside for that cigarette?” 

“I thought you quit.” Rust frowned as he scrubbed the dishes with a soapy sponge.

“I don’t want to smoke, just, uh, it would be good to get some fresh air with you.”

“It’s your back porch.” Rust shrugged as he set the freshly cleaned dishes on the drying rack. “I don’t mind the company.”

After Marty slipped on his shoes, he followed Rust outside, watched him light up the first cigarette. He never could smoke just one. They’d probably stand here awhile, listen to the mockingbirds sing. 

Rust’s cheeks hollowed as he took a drag, his eyes peaceful, a hint of a smile on his hardened face. Marty had the idiotic notion that he was jealous of that cigarette, how easily it fit between his lips, got its tip sucked by that pretty mouth. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?” Rust tapped the cigarette, let the ashes fall to the brick patio.

This could be the moment. Rust was giving him an opportunity. Maybe he sensed some of Marty’s inner turmoil, could feel the heat coming off his body when they were in such close proximity. Marty sidestepped an inch toward him. 

He paused, studying the serenity of Rust’s face, eyes fixed on the bricks, cigarette hanging from his lips. Was he going to do this? Marty never let anything stop him before, but losing damn near everything in his life had chipped away at his reckless bravery. 

Straying hair framed the left side of Rust’s face; the waves of gray mixed seamlessly with bronze. Marty held his breath and reached over to brush the errant strands away from half-closed blue eyes. His hair was soft, and Marty wanted to run his fingers through it, touch the only part of Rust that seemed to yield. Rust’s eyes shifted and widened, beamed on him like headlights. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a wispy plume of smoke. “Marty?”

“Don’t want your hair catching on fire.” 

Rust extinguished the cigarette with his fingers and tossed it on the patio. He shook his head. “No, that ain’t it.”

Goddamn him. Why did he have to make this more difficult? Marty’s heart was in his throat. His fingers trembled as he scrambled for the right words, any words. 

Rust pressed his thumb into his lower lip like he was contemplating the universe or whatever bullshit ran through that beautiful head of his. He stepped closer to Marty, moved his thumb from his own face and touched Marty’s lower lip. “I’m gonna taste like coffee and nicotine.”

Marty let out a shaky breath. “I don’t give a fuck.” 

He wrapped an arm around Rust’s shoulders and pulled him in close. Rust was solid, so much stronger than he appeared. Marty could kick himself for thinking of him as something frail. This stubborn son of a bitch was letting Marty move him, showing that it was okay to touch him. Rust’s lips parted, his gaze unwavering, cutting into Marty’s layers of armor. He wanted Marty to do this, to kiss him. Hallelujah.

Marty planted a kiss on Rust’s lower lip, paying no mind to the cigarette smoke on his breath. Their mouths collided, hungry and desperate. The bristle of Rust’s facial hair scraped against his cheek, a rough contrast to soft lips. Closing his eyes, Marty traced his tongue along the seam of his mouth and then pushed into wet heat. So fucking perfect. Why had he been so afraid? The kiss was inevitable. All that mumbo jumbo about time and flat circles finally clicked into place for him. Marty stroked a hand down Rust’s long spine, wanting to hold him tighter. 

Rust moved in closer, draped an arm across Marty’s back, hand roaming to his shoulders. Warmth coursed through Marty’s chest while his heart pounded to a rhythm racing out of control while rough fingers stroked the length of his neck. The kiss deepened, and Rust moaned into Marty’s mouth. There wasn’t a better sound than that. He wanted to capture every noise, every breath, keep each one safe like they were something precious. 

The kiss was not enough and too much all at once. Marty squirmed against Rust’s hips, aching for more contact, eager for friction. 

Rust smoothed his hand down Marty’s back and then he broke the kiss. “There. Was that so fucking difficult?” 

Marty gasped for air, while Rust held steady. His face was like marble, beautiful but hard, and Marty wondered what it would take to move him, for euphoria to light up his eyes. “If I would’ve known you wanted me to...well, shit, Rust.”

“I didn’t think I did anything for you.” Rust cupped his hand over Marty’s groin. “I was wrong.”

“Wish I could get that admission on tape.” Marty leaned into Rust’s touch, his legs shaking.

Rust squeezed Marty right through his shorts, and a moan burst Marty’s lips open.

“How about I save my next cigarette for afterward?”

“After?” Marty throbbed in Rust’s hand. 

“Do I have to spell it out?” Rust removed his hand and slipped his fingers down Marty’s shorts. 

Marty gasped at the touch, those long fingers stroking him. “Fuck.”

“That’s it.” Rust licked his lips. “Let’s go inside. I’d like to get in your bed, take my time with you.”

“I can’t imagine you’d do things any other way.”

“Things worth doing right shouldn’t be hurried.” Rust tugged at the hem of Marty’s t-shirt. 

“Don’t undress me just yet. We’ll give the neighbors a fright.”

“Fuck your neighbors.” Rust tucked his fingers under Marty’s shirt and stroked nimble fingers along his belly. His touch set off a path of fire that blazed heat down to his groin. “But I’ll wait until we get to your room.”

Marty swung open the door and held it for Rust. “Let’s go then.”

After Rust stepped inside, Marty kicked off his shoes. The house was quiet and still, but for the first time, new energy surged through the walls. It was like some of Rust’s sixth sense had rubbed off on him. He never paid much attention to how a place felt until this crazy bastard came into his life. 

Marty followed Rust to the master bedroom, easy to catch up to him with those slow, deliberate strides. 

“Get on your bed.” Rust gripped Marty by the bulk of his upper arms and pushed him against the mattress.

Marty let himself collapse onto the bed, this cold lonely space that, for a decade, had served as nothing but a vehicle for sleep. A bed that hadn’t seen pleasure, hadn’t been rattled and shaken by bodies joining. 

Rust sat on the mattress and helped Marty out of his shirt. Before Marty could feel shy or inadequate about his aging body or his round belly, Rust’s mouth was on his chest, planting wet kisses along his scar. His heart pounded as Rust licked a stripe down his chest to his navel, fingers tucking into his shorts. Rust slipped them off, guiding Marty’s hips with his hands. So good to be handled by him, to be assured by his regained strength. 

“Mmm.” Rust licked his lips, and Marty was in awe of the admiration held by those dreamy eyes. He never got any complaints about his generous size, but no one had ever reacted like Rust, eyes glazed, lips parting like he had just unwrapped a gift.

Rust’s mouth was on him, tongue swirling the crown of his dick, and Marty felt like the bed had dropped twenty feet. He swallowed him down, and fuck, Rust had done this before. His lips and tongue worked in perfect harmony while Marty soared from the depths into the clouds. He was too old for this, his stamina diminished over the years, his skin too sensitive. But he’d hold on as long as he could for Rust.

Marty lost himself in the heat that enveloped him, the hum in Rust’s mouth that vibrated, shook him to his core. All this effort was for him. Rust was taking his sweet time, and Marty would never complain about his slow and steady tortoise pace again. At least not in the bedroom. 

“Rust, I...oh, fuck,” Marty murmured as Rust hollowed his cheeks, sucked him in deeper. 

A soft squeeze of his balls and Marty was done for, coming into Rust’s mouth before he could warn him. Rust seemed unphased, lips taut on his crown, stroking his length with his hand as Marty floated, weightless under him. The pleasure consumed him almost completely, and he closed his eyes. Rust’s lips popped off him, a damp forehead rested at his hip. Marty heard him swallow and then sigh. 

Trembling with an aftershock, Marty nestled his fingers into Rust’s hair, stroking his head. “What about you? Aren’t you…” Hard. Aching. He couldn’t get the words out. Shy modesty took over, which was ridiculous considering Marty’s plentiful experiences, nevermind the fact that Rust had just sucked his dick with exquisite delicacy, but there he was. Stumbling over his words, unsure of how to give Rust what he needed. Afraid that he wouldn’t know what to do, or that it wouldn’t be enough. They had battled monsters together, but this new chapter of intimacy scared Marty so much more.

“I’m in no hurry.” Rust’s breath tickled Marty’s thigh. “It can wait until tonight. I know you have work this afternoon.”

Marty raked his fingers through silky strands. “Well, fuck that. Work can wait. You are my only priority.”

He wished he could’ve seen Rust’s reaction to his words, although he feared he’d be met with the usual contemplative stare, those chiseled features unmoved by Marty’s sentiments. This was a new leg in their journey, maybe it was better not to examine too closely.

Rust lifted his head. His eyes were soft, and Marty hadn’t seen him that vulnerable since the night he took him home from Lafayette General. “Yeah?” 

“Of course.” Marty shifted to grab Rust by the shoulders, coaxing him to sit up. He tugged Rust’s undershirt at his collarbone. “First thing is getting you out of these clothes.”

He peeled the tank over Rust’s head, a watchful stare burning into him as he dropped it on the floor and unzipped tattered blue jeans. Rust’s chest heaved with every breath, and Marty loved that he could have such an effect on him. After ridding him of his jeans and briefs, smooth, tanned skin on display for Marty’s pleasure, he grabbed Rust’s hand. He needed his guidance, couldn’t get this wrong but didn’t know how to begin.

“I, uh, this is new for me, being with a man.” Marty couldn’t meet his eyes but squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Rust stroked a finger along Marty’s jaw and kissed the corner of his lips. “This is new for me, too, being with a man so gentle and kind.”

He could have burst, his heart broken and repaired over and over again. No one could wound him quite like Rust. No one else could heal him. He pressed a kiss to the tattoo on his chest, wishing he could absorb some of the pain that burdened him.

Marty rested his lips against the vibrations of a beating heart. “What do you like?”

“This. You.” Rust kissed the top of Marty’s head, not shying away from his thinning hair. “Sharing this bed with you. Making you come. Your big fucking dick.”

Marty’s cheeks flushed, and a shaky laugh escaped his lips when he lifted his head. “But what about you? I want to…” Words were escaping him. Marty never could find the right ones. So he grasped Rust, stroked him slowly. 

“Shit, Marty.” Rust trembled against him. 

“Is this something you like?” Marty slicked his thumb and got back to stroking him up and down.

Rust moaned, eyelids fluttering. “Yes.”

Marty picked up the pace, squeezing him, listening for gasps. This wasn’t so scary. He could do this for Rust, hell, he enjoyed his dick in his hand, the perfection of velvety smooth weight throbbing against his fingers. All those moans and gasps and grunts were sweet music to his ears.

Rust bucked into his hand, hips thrusting in time with every stroke. “Need your fingers,” he panted, “inside.”

Marty paused his strokes and reached with his other hand. Hesitant at first, he circled Rust’s tight hole with his middle finger.

“Please,” Rust rocked back on his finger.

Marty wouldn’t make him beg or wait. Not when he sounded so desperate. Rust needed him, asked him for something, and damn it Marty would give him all he could even if he was terrified he’d break him. He pushed his finger inside, the constriction of muscles holding him tight. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Rust growled, encouraging Marty to move his hand again. 

He jerked his dick with confidence blooming in his chest, while Rust fucked himself on his finger, panting and pleading for more. Marty was in disbelief at his own body’s reaction to Rust’s sounds of pleasure. He was half-hard already. Didn’t think he could get his engine revving again so quickly anymore.

“More,” Rust bucked his hips again, and Marty pushed another finger inside. He wasn’t hard enough to give him anything else, but now that he knew this was something Rust craved they could save and enjoy that for another time.

Marty curled his fingers, brushed against something tender that made Rust cry out. Liquid heat spilled into his hand. He pulled out his fingers and enveloped Rust in a warm embrace, enjoying the damp heat of skin against skin. With a ragged breath, Rust leaned into Marty, nuzzled his head against his chest. “God  _ damn _ , Marty.”

“I still got a few surprises left in me, even if I am an old man.”

“Well, I ain’t no spring chicken neither.” Lips brushed over Marty’s scar again. 

“You’re more like a fine wine.” Marty nosed Rust’s hair, breathing him in, all his sweat and salt. “So, uh, are you still fixing to go to the hardware store?”

Rust shook his head. “Tomorrow.”

“Nap? Shower?”

“Nap.” Rust exhaled warm air against Marty’s chest. “And then a bath.”

“With me?”   
  


“Well, yeah, Marty.”

Shifting his weight, Marty smiled. He grabbed a pillow and slipped it under his head. Rust was still using his chest for support, and Marty wanted to keep it that way. He pulled the band off Rust’s hair and untangled the messy waves. He’d catch up on work tomorrow. No need to hurry. Hated to admit it, but Rust was right about that. 

Marty was pleased with himself, proud even, that he finally worked up the nerve to kiss his best friend. But he had left some things unspoken, and he wouldn’t be able to rest until he put it out there. 

“This is your home, Rust, if you want it to be.” Marty ran his fingers through soft, graying hair like he had been touching him this way for years. “I like having you here.”

“That’s quite the offer, but I ain’t easy to live with.” Rust went quiet and still, and Marty worried if this was too soon or too much. 

“Well, that may be true, but you ain’t easy to live without.”

“Home, here with you?” Rust pressed a kiss over Marty’s heart. “I’d like that very much.”

Relief washed over Marty, and he let his fingers trace the length of Rust’s hair, down the nape of his neck, to rest on firm shoulders.

The sun shone through the bedroom window, painting Rust’s back with golden light. Marty sank into the mattress, let himself soak in this afterglow. They’ve both earned this bit of peace, took a damn long time to get here. Slow but worth it. Rust’s breathing eased to a comforting rhythm, the exhales crashing like gentle waves on Marty’s chest and belly. 

Good fucking day to be alive.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. It has been five years since posting my last True Detective fic, and I find myself returning to the fandom during times of stress. I hope you enjoyed. I love these guys way too much. I might add more chapters if the ideas come to me. 
> 
> I'm also messing around with an AU pre-canon fic that's darker and would feature Rust as Crash, but we'll see if it's something I want to post. I really enjoy the 2012 Rust and Marty, exploring all the post-canon possibilities.


End file.
